


Hands

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Broken Windows [37]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 00:42:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14148177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: Drift remembers many things. But one thing, he's forgotten.





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dreamwidth [ tf_rare_pairing community](http://tf-rare-pairing.dreamwidth.org/) for the prompt: Drift/anyone - forgotten things. Also, in part, drawn from a conversation I spotted on Tumblr years ago about Bayverse Drift and Ratchet.

Remembering the sound of his voice cut more deeply than the swords on Drift's back. Rough and low, and how Drift missed it. Calling softly in the dark or shouting brightly through their mornings. Sometimes it ached in the hitch of pain and hush of the dead. Sometimes it purred in the soft glow of distant stars. But Drift remembered that voice, and he held it close.

He held the images stored in his memory closer. Red and whites replaced by yellows and greens as the war ground them down. A battlefield beacon for the injured and weary. He had laughed, but Drift had panicked over the visibility. Now, the images of the medic's own humor held Drift up. They shook him hard and kept him moving.

Catching Prime's signal had been Primus' own blessing. Separated by duty and hunted as much as hunting, Drift had flown world to world on a prayer. Where their great leader was, so was another. A _specific_ someone that Drift needed like violence and energon.

Only, grubbing in the dirt of this strange world, they were targets. Hiding from vermin on the orders of a leader who had abandoned them. And Drift, full of memory, hadn't found his reality. Watching the solid shadows plague his transparent reality, he felt the crumbling begin. But, then, Drift had always been more than a little lost, hadn't he?

Begging in the trash, frantically killing for a cause, or realizing the depth of his sins, and now... Now Drift knew what he longed for most. The one memory he had forgotten to carefully store with the rest. He knew what would haunt him as long as he could keep his head attached to his shoulders.

Drift had forgotten the touch of Ratchet's hands. He no longer remembered the slide of precisely crafted fingers over his frame. All the times those hands had saved his spark slipped into the void. Lost. Anything left in his mind dreamed of reunions. Their future, if such might ever happen, in an unbroken world.

Dreams. And nothing more. Drift had come too late. He had trusted their leader, their Prime, and Ratchet had paid the price. Ratchet's voice echoed through his mind. He could find Ratchet's colors in all the world.

But Ratchet's hands were lost to him forever.


End file.
